


you wake up.

by free_cookiesx



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Anyways, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Second Person, can i just say that i much prefer phantommy to ghostinnit, ghostinnit, just some reactions to tommys death, phantommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/free_cookiesx/pseuds/free_cookiesx
Summary: Wilbur's eyes swirl with something dark, a glint that reminds you faintly of mania, of- of-"Prime, Tommy, what did theydoto you?"You don't know why, but you start to sob.(as of march 4th not canon compliant sorry)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 9
Kudos: 315





	1. Tommy

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to parker and merch if you are reading this i know we don't know each other but you guys are very cool and leave awesome compliments and i just hjkgdfhjd you guys r so cool
> 
> ty to darkcave for being swag betas i love you all

You wake up. 

You don't remember how you got here. 

There's trees around you, a great ravine in the floor next to you, and something seems to strike a chord in your nonexistent veins. 

Nonexistent? 

You look down and see scarred, pale hands, semi-translucent and striking against the ground. You clench them. Nothing happens. You're not sure what you expected. 

There's a staircase down into the ravine lined with buttons, and you run your hands gently over them. 

The wood seems familiar, something uneasy you can't quite place settling itself inside your gut, whatever was left of it. There doesn't seem to be redstone connected to them, there's not the steady flow of power running through them. It's still impressive, though! You recognize buttons of all sorts of wood- dark oak, birch- Hell, even the Nether woods! 

You float -float?- down the stairwell, tracing the spaces in between the buttons for fear of doing something wrong. 

There's not much light down here. 

You hum and head down the cavern, your footsteps echoing in a way that's eerily familiar to you. The way your feet don't tap against the stone but still the sound of your steps ring in your ears isn't exactly pleasant. You wince, but keep going. 

You look at the bridges and burnt out lanterns, your gaze lingers on a piston with spent redstone scattered about, 

It's silent. 

Until it's not. 

An echoing, layered voice rings through the ravine, the source of it coming from the opposite end from where you are.

"Tommy?" 

Your gaze flits around until it settles on your mentor-brother figure. Wilbur looks like you do. Pale, translucent, slightly glowing. 

You're not proud to say that his voice made you jump, but who would you be if you didn't tell the absolute truth? 

He's sitting on a chest, looking into your eyes. He stands out against the shadowed stone of the ravine, his face the only thing you can see. 

He comes over to you and you walk slowly towards him, meeting somewhere but not quite in the middle. 

He traces his thumb over your cheekbone, taking in your face. You haven't looked at yourself since- since- 

You don't know what it looks like, but now Wilbur does. His eyes swirl with something dark, a glint that reminds you faintly of mania, of- of- 

He's worried and angry and his eyebrows are furrowed in the way they were when Phil hadn't written him in months. He sinks to his knees, taking you with him, and he wraps his arms around you in a way you haven't felt in what seems like forever. 

He's trying to steady his breath, get a grip on himself, but you know he's emotional. You pat your hand on his back twice, but he pulls away and holds you at arm's length. 

" _Prime_ , Tommy, what did they _do_ to you?" 

You don't know why, but you start to sob. 

**_~*~_ **

You wake up again. 

This time you remember how you got here. 

Wilbur walked you here, out of the ravine, across a beautifully crafted bridge, gently pushing you along until you reached a small house, etched into the side of the cliff. 

He sat you down on a couch, pushing something warm and smelling faintly of flowers and herbs into your hands. You drank it. 

As magic made its way through your body you dazed off, watching Wilbur scribble something in a blank book. 

And then you woke up. 

And now you're here, wrapped in a light blanket that you don't recognize. 

Wilbur's sitting in a chair across from you, watching you, but he seems to be waiting for you to speak. A quirk of his eyebrow confirms this, and you lick your lips before speaking. 

"Hey." 

Your voice is raspy and painful and you cough, acrid heat burning the back of your throat. Wilbur takes the mug you drained and pours another, setting it on a small nearby table. 

You drink with slow sips, the concoction settling into your nonexistent bones. Wilbur speaks to fill the empty space- telling you that you may not remember anything, that you're missing time, that you're on edge and will be for a while- "You're a ghost after all," he says. "You just died in the worst way possible; you're going to have some trauma." 

You honestly don't know why he's saying all this- your memories are perfectly intact. You think. 

"I think you may be overreacting, Wilbur," you croak out when you can. "I don't think you realize that I'm perfectly okay. Except for the throat stuff, but- you know." 

Wilbur presses his lips together and leans forward, a question he shouldn't ask dancing on the edge of his tongue. He opens his mouth, and- 

_"Tommy, how did you die?"_

You open your mouth to answer. 

You don't know what comes spilling out. 

You taste words on your tongue, they settle uncomfortably in the corners of your mouth, but you don't process them. 

You tell Wilbur of fire, of hands clasped around your neck, of punches and kicks and fear and _terror,_ even, and with every word you watch as his face grows darker and darker. 

He stands up, walks towards you, and you hold your breath in preparation for- for _something_ , but whatever you're scared of doesn't come. 

He kneels in front of where you're sitting and takes you into his arms, cradling you like he once did to Fundy. 

"Tommy. Poor, sweet Tommy." 

His voice is quiet and shaky, and you hear a faint sizzle from where his head is. 

You pull back, afraid, but he looks at you with shining eyes and you don't know _why_ , but you stay. 

You're not sure how long you spend there, Wilbur's arms around you, but you look out the window and you notice that the sun is setting. 

"Wilbur," you manage out, and that seems to shock him back to his senses. He stands, wiping his hands off on his sweater, and you see a smudged dark stain on his chest. 

You don't point it out. 

Wilbur helps you up and motions up to the stairs. "You can have one of the guest bedrooms, I made one for you. Techno and Phil, too, but they're not here." 

With a nod you start climbing, keeping your gaze to the deep blue carpeting underfoot. 

"And in the morning, Tommy?" 

You look back behind you and Wilbur's eyes are gleaming with something and deja vu finds you once more and- 

"We're going to raze those motherfuckers to the ground." 


	2. Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes up. 
> 
> [(song if u wanna)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktuDYYtbs2s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow this got popular fast?? go touch some grass or something smh /lh 
> 
> seriously though, i've got a lot of other works that you can go check out if you like this!! there's some [touch starved technoblade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986004), [a wilbur redemption fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663149), and ~more~ :))

You wake up. 

You grimace and rub your calloused hands over your face, feeling the familiar bumps and crevices. 

There's thin streaks of dried salt from where your tears soaked into your face last night. You scrub them off and sit up, running your fingertips over your threadbare blanket. 

There's not much of anything around you, you notice. You chose to spend the night at the prison, just in case Dream- 

You don't know. 

You want him to come back. 

You know it's your fault. 

If you had just- 

You yell and slam your fist into the obsidian wall, not caring about the bruise that will be there tomorrow. 

You shove on your armor, holding your head high as you strap it to yourself over the same clothes you wore yesterday. And the day before. 

You have to- 

You have to check on people, see how they're doing. 

Walking through the lands, you see the Big Innit Hotel. You see a large tower, you see crawling, crimson vines. You see white diorite platforms with water, you see flowers, you see red flowers, you see white flowers, you see Tommy's old house, and you see- 

You see Ranboo. 

He's a good kid, never got himself into much trouble, seemed to keep in everyone's good graces- 

He looks at you and you can't help but notice tearstains on his cheeks, pink and angry. 

"Hey, Ranboo," you say gently. You try and keep the tremor out of your voice, but you're sure he knows it's there anyways. "How are you?" 

"As good as anyone  _ can _ be," he hums. He's breathing, in and out and in and out, and you swear you can hear traces of static coming from the back of his throat. 

You stand together in silence for a minute, Ranboo's shaking hands and your own wary thoughts the only thing you have for company. 

He opens his mouth, preparing to ask a question, and you tilt your head to invite him to speak. He notices and curls his hands into fists, nervous. 

"Did you... did you know what happened between them? Before the prison?" 

You press your lips together and shift your weight. "Yeah," you say finally. "Yeah, I did." 

Ranboo inhales and clutches his book a little closer to his chest. "So- so you knew  _ everything _ ?" 

"I- Tommy was in a vulnerable spot, and I think that my influence calmed him a bit-" 

"You knew  _ everything _ , and you  _ still  _ let him see Dream?" 

Ranboo's eyes are flicking back and forth, to you, the book, to you again, and you wonder what words about you are written down on the pages. 

"I thought it would be good to let him get closure-" 

"And so you let him stay there for a  _ week _ ?" 

Ranboo's eyes are wide, and he's hunched in on himself. His eyes spark and hiss with unshed tears, and you reach a hand out, trying to steady the boy's shaking. He jumps back, his ears pressing flat against his head. 

"Don't- don't  _ touch _ me," he says,

"You- you're- You don't get to play dumb with me, Sam!" 

You wince and draw away, the planks under your feet swaying with your steps. 

"You  _ knew _ what he was capable of! You could have- you could have  _ done _ something, you could have-" 

"You don't  _ understand _ -" 

"You didn't think that  _ anything  _ bad would happen to Tommy? Tommy, the same guy that Dream kept alive, kept manipulating, kept- kept-" 

"I thought it would be good for Tommy," you say. "I thought that this visit would be the end of it, but I couldn't let him out, it's not protocol, Ranboo-" 

"The person who helped you  _ make  _ the protocol was in the prison! You were the higher authority, you could have kept Dream in there, you could have  _ changed _ it, you-" 

He cuts himself off and buries his head in his hands with a whimper. 

"If I thought there was something I could have done, I would have done it." He peeks out at you from underneath his arms. Clearly he doesn't believe you. "I screamed myself raw in there, Ranboo. All he was doing was laughing, I couldn't-" 

You sigh. This isn't going anywhere. 

You hold out your hand, asking for the object in his. 

"Can I see your book, Ranboo?" 

He hesitates. Nods. 

He passes you the notebook with a defiant step forward, and you flip through the pages until you find one untouched by ink or stains. In a poor but passable imitation of Ranboo's handwriting, you take out a pen and carefully write three sentences. 

**_TOMMY IS NOT MY FAULT._ **

**_WHAT HAPPENED TO TOMMY WAS SAM'S FAULT._ **

**_SAM IS RESPONSIBLE._ **

You pass the book back, and he takes it as quickly as he can without seeming scared. You know he's terrified, but you don't want him to know that you know. 

His eyes flit over the words like a hummingbird, and when he looks at you again it's with confusion and sorrow. 

"I'm going- I'm going to go." Your tongue is heavy in your mouth and your throat is choked up with all the words you could have said. You pull out your trident and step into one of the nearby puddles. You grip it tightly, stretch your arm back, and turn to him one last time. "Stay safe, okay?" 

He inhales sharply and scrambles forward. "Wait, Sam-!" 

But you've already disappeared. 

**_~*~_ **

You wake up. 

Your five minute rest wasn't exactly a nap, per se, but it was close enough to justify "waking up." 

You nod to Bad, who's stood at the ready, waiting for you to 

He slowly blinks back at you, a lazy smile spread across his face. "You ready?" 

"Yeah." 

"Alright, I'll lower it down. Call me when you need me, okay? Have fun!" 

You grimace and rub your hand over your face, trying to distract yourself from Bad's lack of sorrow over Tommy's death. The lava in front of you is drying out your eyes too quickly to be reasonable, and you want more than  _ anything _ for this day to be over. 

The magma drips, ever so slightly down... 

down... 

down...

and you see Dream. 

The bastard is sitting there with a smug smile on his face, bruises and smears of red across his knuckles. Dried, flaky blood stains his upper lip, and he's already looking at you- like he was  _ expecting _ you or something. 

"Hey," he says. His voice is acidic, saccharine and sweet. "Long time no see." 

You don't respond, instead placing your hand on the hilt of your sword. He laughs in your face, openly mocking you, and you're filled with visceral intent, you want to rip the smirk off of his head, you want to shove your sword into him, you want to- 

"No need to get feisty," he sing-songs. "You still haven't given me my rations for today, you know. I've had to subside off of the shitty warm water in there. That's no way to run a prison, Sam. What  _ am  _ I? An  _ animal _ ?" 

"A monster." 

Your voice is quiet, so quiet, that you don't even think you heard it yourself. 

"A  _ monster _ , Sam?" He grins and leans back on the palms of his hands. "No need to use such harsh language with me." 

"You were  _ laughing _ ," you growl. "You were laughing over his dead body, you threw him into the lava to make sure we wouldn't have a body to bury, you- you-" 

"Why don't you leave, Sam." 

Dream's voice is light and airy, and he pushes himself up with grace he should have no right to have. He walks over to you, stepping over spatters of blood that are sticky against crying obsidian. He cups your cheek in his hand and you have to fight the urge to sink into his arms, to partake in his comfort like you used to do. 

"Everything you worked so hard for is  _ gone _ , Sam. You don't have to keep going anymore, it would be so easy just to, you know- give up, let someone else take the lead. The kid- Ranboo, was it? He's strong, he's smart. The prison would be in good hands, with him. It would be so,  _ so  _ easy to-" 

You yank your head back and draw your sword, scrambling away until your back is nearly against the wall of lava. Dream snorts, pretending to cover it with a hand, but you know that he doesn't care about sparing your feelings. 

"Don't- Don't talk to me like that," you manage. The hands that hold your sword are shaking, and you swallow nervously, your throat working through the heat of the room. "You don't  _ get _ to talk to me like that." 

"I think I get to talk to you however I want. You know what else? I think you're going to leave me be. You don't have the heart to kill one of your  _ best friends _ ," he purrs. He spreads his arms, presenting his threadbare form to you. "Especially not when he's in such a  _ state _ ." 

You grit your teeth and sheathe your sword once more. Dream's eyes shine in victory, and he straightens himself, taking a step back to let you 

You clench and unclench your fists as you step into the water, and Dream's still standing in front of you with the satisfaction of a cat who had brought a dead bird. 

At the last second, before you call out to Bad, you cross the room in quick, long strides. 

Dream doesn't have time to process before you punch him in the face, sending his form crumpling to the ground. 

"That's for Tommy," you spit at his form. 

And as the potions of harming rain upon you, their acid burning dark purple into your pale green, you can't help but feel relief. 

**Author's Note:**

> if this breaks anyone's boundaries, lmk!! 
> 
> if you like this i have longer stuff similar to it published :))


End file.
